no matter how far
by WDW
Summary: Earth's been making big waves for a backwater planet, and the rest of the universe is taking notice. It's getting a bit annoying, if Peter had to be honest. Still, twenty six years of new music was reason enough to pay a little visit.
1. Chapter 1

"Look, I don't know anything about that - whatever it is, going on between Earth and Asgard," Peter said, for what felt like hundredth time. "I haven't been down there since I was a kid. Seriously. Whatever's going on, it's _way_ after my time. "

The Klklk eyed him dubiously. Probably - it was difficult to tell with an eight foot long bug alien with glowing red eyes, even after twenty six years of life in deep space. Some things, you never get used to. He tried again. "I am _really_ not the right person to ask about this, okay? Last time I was down there, they haven't even come up with hyperspace travel, let alone making buddy-buddy with Asgardians."

"Haven't met any other Terrans before," said the Klklk, mandibles clicking, contrasting greatly with the sultry feminine voice Peter's translator implant had thought appropriate. God, was she _hitting_ on him? "Why you out here, then? If you Terrans are so behind."

"That's... a long story," he said, searching the crowd for a glimpse of green. "Very, _very_ long. Probably take hours - no, days -" Hell, at this point, he'd take Drax. Where did they _go_?

"Tell it to me," she purred - _purred_ \- and leaned closer, over her metal cylinder of unidentifiable, beige drink. "Like long stories." Oh. _God_.

Peter had spent the large majority of his life in space, where other humans were scarcer than hair on Drax's head, and if there was one thing he wasn't, it was speciesist. Pink skin was hot. Extra arms... it only took one encounter in a dark corner of a seedy bar, but he was _hooked_. Antennae, cybernetic implants, tails - he had a very broad idea of what was attractive. Still, he had to draw the lines somewhere.

Also, he was pretty sure Klklks had a tendency to chomp on the heads of their lovers. Kinky, but it was _not_ his thing.

"Okay, I _really_ have to go," Peter stressed, pushing his chair a bit more behind him. "Listen, babe, it's not you, it's -" He felt a hand on his shoulder, and it didn't weigh down on him like a sack of potatoes, which narrowed it down to - "Gamora, _thank_ you."

"Peter," she acknowledged, and addressed the Klklk, who looked as abashed as a giant, chitin-covered insect could look. "Mind if I borrowed him for a moment?"

"No, no, no," the Klklk stammered. "Didn't know he was taken, swear." Peter was pretty sure it was more the fact that the alien recognized Gamora - like, apparently, every other person in the galaxy who wasn't Peter Quill - than it was about her hitting on someone already taken. Apparently, news of the newly dubbed Guardians haven't reached the outer galaxies - at least, not the news that Gamora wasn't exactly on the side of world destroying, mass murdering evil. Not that he was complaining, right now.

As glad as he was for Gamora's save, he couldn't help but smirk at her as soon as they got out of hearing range. She eyed him with exasperation. "Do not even _think_ about it," she warned.

"No, no," he agreed. "No pelvic sorcery here. None at all."

Gamora elbowed him, and since he wasn't dying of internal hemorrhaging, he figured she wasn't actually mad. "She was asking about Terra, was she not?" She asked him.

"Yeah. What is that, the twelfth time this week? Seriously," he griped. "Twenty six years of people side eying me because of how technologically behind Earth is, now they're side eying me because of - whatever's going on the planet." It had, from what little he knew from barroom chit-chat, involved large explosions in space, Asgardian interference, and - of all things - a _Chitauri_ invasion. "Figures that the planet actually got interesting _after_ I left."

"You truly have not seen your planet for three decades?" Gamora asked, a look of confusion on her face. "I understand that the Ravagers would not have allowed it, but you have possessed your own ship for many years."

"Look," Peter sighed. "The thing about Earth is... well, I _could_ go back. If I wanted to, I mean. Wouldn't be easy, but if I really wanted to burn the credits, I could have flown back anytime. It's just -"

It was hard to explain, doubly so to a woman whose home planet and family were destroyed. Sometimes, he didn't understand it himself. Yondu and the Ravagers had taken him from his home and his family - though his mom was dead, he knew his grandpa would have taken care of him. Mom made him promise, after all, and he had came over a lot even though he always got mad at Peter's mom about his disappeared dad. Disappeared, ancient alien dad, apparently. He was, as far as he knew, the only human roaming the galaxy.

But - and here was the thing - Earth was _boring_. He had seen deep space at the age of ten, had met people of every shade of color on the rainbow, had found a whole universe that he had no idea existed when he was on Earth. If he went back, all that was gone. Sure, Earth had rainforests and bears and raccoons - seriously, Rocket would blow a _fuse_ if he ever met one - but that was nothing compared to what he had here.

"- You didn't want to," Gamora ended for him.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Earth's nothing compared to space. I mean, they don't even have starships. Last I remembered, they still had guns with bullets. I didn't think Earth would have anything to do with the rest of the galaxy for a few hundred years, but now -" He shrugged. "Even _I_ can tell, and I didn't know who Thanos was for a loooong time - sorry. Anyways, Earth was nothing, a few years ago. Some backwater planet in a distant star system, I'm fine with that. Now, they're fighting off Chitauri invasions and having talks with _Asgardians_. I thought they were too busy having sticks up their butts to even talk to the rest of the universe."

"So you want to go back," she said. "Now that your planet has become interesting."

"What?" He exclaimed. "Oh, no, no. I'm fine with not going back, ever. Honestly." Gamora raised an eyebrow. "I'm just surprised, okay? I thought I was going to be the only person in the galaxy to care about Earth, but now it turns out everyone's interested."

"I know you left things on your planet that you don't want to revisit," said Gamora, and Peter's heart sank. Dammit, how did she always see right through him? "But you have avoided it for twenty six years. That, I think, is long enough."

"I - Wait," he asked, suddenly suspicious. "What happened?"

She flicked up a hologram wordlessly, and a blue-tinted Earth appeared in front of him. "Corpsman Dey sent a message. The Nova Empire has a job for us. They want to make contact with Terra, and figured that actually having a Terran involved would benefit relations."

"_Shit._ And, uh, the others are fine with this?"

"Rocket wants access to old technologies that aren't available in most markets. Personally, I think he just wants to show off his technological superiority. Drax has heard of a great Terran warrior of blue, red, and white, and hopes to meet him. Groot does not seem to object either way."

Blue, red, and white? "_Captain America_?"

"Captain what?" Gamora raised an eyebrow.

"I - nevermind_._" He sighed. "Well, since everyone's already agreed, I can't really say no now, can I? Anyways," Peter grinned, "I've been meaning to make an Awesome Mix Volume 3."

* * *

"_Goddammit_," said Tony Stark, frowning at the alien spacecraft that had just landed on the roof of the rebuilt Avengers Tower. "Why is it always _my_ tower?"


	2. Chapter 2

Galactic law stated that primitive planets inhabited by sentient beings were not to be interfered with. Peter wasn't much of a historian, but he would have guessed that a few budding empires had gotten too grabby with neighboring, resource-rich systems. No interference until the denizens had achieved some sort of contact with the rest of the galaxy, which meant that – technically – the Guardians shouldn't be entering Earth's atmosphere right now.

But then, laws were meant to be broken, and they _did_ have permission. Sort of. Depending on your point of view, really.

Fact remained, the Ravagers had grabbed Peter off the planet easily enough, and they _didn't_ have pseudo-permission from the Xandar Empire, so. He supposed Nova Prime had viewed Earth's communications with Asgard as reason enough to consider it to be part of the civilized galaxy. Peter wasn't complaining either way.

Rocket had laughed so hard when he got a good look at the planet's surface – "Figures that this is where _you_ came from, Quill," – that Peter had found it miraculous that the _Milano_ didn't plummet into the ocean or something. Which, especially considering the perception filters currently activated (oh crap, no one would ever find them if they crashed), wasn't exactly how Peter wanted to return to his home planet after twenty six years.

"Damn. Look at all these trees," Rocket commented. "What are these buildings made of, _brick_? Hell, you Terrans really are a bit backward, huh?"

"Shut up, man," he sighed. "Guess the place really hasn't changed much since I left. Don't know what I expected – figured if the place caught Thanos' attention, they've done something big."

They spent a while flying without any particular direction, partly because Gamora had suggested that they get a look at the planet, and mostly because Peter had no idea where they should go. In his defense, he was like, ten when he left the planet, and he didn't exactly have a list of "places to visit when you're an alien diplomat" back then anyways. He had been more concerned with whatever legal reforms or political stuff was going on in whatever planet – in his defense, he hadn't known his whatever with the duchess had been against the law, and _she_ apparently hadn't thought it was important enough to mention – since, well, those actually _applied_ to him.

"Hey, take a look at this." Rocket thumbed a clawed finger at the screen. "Seems like there's _one_ thing from this planet that's not complete trash." He paused for effect. "And no, Quill, I didn't forget about you."

"Okay, honestly, that got old about the fifth time you –" Peter stared. "_Woah_. Alright, _that_ wasn't here last time I was on this planet. Believe me, I would have noticed."

It was big. Of course, it couldn't compare to some of the _other_ places he had been – read: stolen from – or even the surrounding buildings, but that energy the place was giving off-

"Huh. What _is_ that – plasma? It can't be, doesn't have the right signature…" Rocket muttered to himself excitedly, eyes widening in way that made Peter very concerned for the general wellbeing of himself and his ship. "I need a better look. I gotta talk to the guy behind this, Quill. This is a fuckin' _beauty_."

"Okay, okay, just don't – crash the ship into it, or anything, alright?"

"I am Groot," Groot agreed, stooping slightly to get most of his bulk to fit in the ship. At least, Peter _thought_ he agreed – he wasn't Rocket-level – probably won't ever be – at Groot-comprehension, but he thought he got the general gist of it.

"I'm not a damn idiot," the raccoon sighed in exasperation. "I'm gonna land on it. Duh."

Drax turned slightly in his swivel chair, from where he had been – evidenty – tuning out for the majority of the conversation. "What?" He rumbled confusedly.

"I _said_, you big lump, I'm gonna land on that tower right there!"

"I am _not_ a –"

"Metaphor, Drax," Gamora said helpfully. The muscular man nodded, a look of dawning comprehension on his craggy face. "Ah," he said knowingly. "Yes, I understand." Peter would gladly bet a few hundred credits he didn't.

"Rocket, don't you fucking _dare_ –" Peter spluttered. "Come on, the plan was for some nice, isolated field in the countryside, with no tall buildings we could hit and get my ship destroyed – _again_."

"I ain't an amateur, Quill. I thought this through." The raccoon grinned smugly. "Now, you might want to hold on to something, 'cuz –" The _Milano_ shifted abruptly vertical, sending Peter stumbling back onto Groot before he managed to get ahold of a metal handhold. Looking at the unsurprised faces of Gamora and Drax, it seemed unfair to him that of everyone in the ship, he was the only to which gravity seemed to have, you know, some _effect_. "Too late."

The _Milano_ soared, almost parallel to the building's surface, until it had cleared the height of the building and Rocket stared downwards with glee, taking in the flat ledge of the top of the tower.

"Rocket, _no_-"

* * *

"– and now we're here," the masked alien said blandly, speaking inexplicably perfect, accent-less American English. Steve wondered briefly about that, before deciding that damage control was more important than asking about the language capabilities of aliens.

"Well, I guess true genius is universal," Stark remarked. "For your information, the Stark Tower –"

"-_Avengers_ Tower-" Pepper corrected quickly.

"_Avengers_ Tower," he continued, without missing a beat, "was built by me. Also, arc reactor technology is awesome. Also, my invention. So, where's the brains of your motley crew?" Stark visually scanned the group of aliens in front of him, evidently looking for his alien counterpart who had, Steve noted wryly, realized his intellectual genius.

"Gotta say, you don't look like much," said the raccoon. The raccoon that was, by all appearances, standing on its hind legs and speaking perfectly coherent English. Despite himself, Steve did a double take. "But what the heck. I ain't the kind of guy to judge people on their looks. I'm Rocket." It held out a paw.

To Stark's credit, he barely seemed phased. "Huh," was all he said. "I'm Tony Stark. Also known as Iron Man in certain circles, by which I mean all." They shook hands.

"So," said the raccoon – Rocket, Steve corrected himself, casting a look back at the masked alien doubtfully. "Star-Lord, Iron Man – are nicknames a thing on Terra, or what?"

'Star-Lord' twitched. "Fuck you, man." He said, but without heat.

"You're from Earth?" Steve asked, stunned. "I thought the farthest we got was the moon." Which had been a rather big shock in itself when he had found _that_ out, even though he himself had fought against red-skinned Nazi's over a blue space cube with limitless power.

"I'm kind of the exception," Star-Lord explained. "1988, alien abduction, it was all very traumatizing. Almost got eaten except I'm pretty sure they were fucking with me. But uh, okay, are you – you're _really_ Captain America? I read your comics when I was a kid."

"Actually, I-" Steve began, feeling surprised and strangely honored that an actual human in space had read – and _enjoyed_, apparently – those corny little comics that Bucky had made fun of him for up until he, uh.

Well.

Stark interrupted him. "He's the real deal, alright. But let's leave the fanboying for later, shall we? Important things now." He grinned. "Have any of you played beer pong?"

"Tony, you know Phil warned us not to make extensive contact until he gets here with his people," Pepper advised, though Steve could see it in her eyes that she held no expectations that the man was going to listen.

"Yeah, well, Director Agent's not gonna be here for a while, seeing how most of SHIELD's good stuff had blown up. No offense, Cap. Desperate measures, desperate means – no judgment here. Anyways," he grinned wider. "_Beer pong_."

"It sounds to be an activity which involves large amounts of alcohol and almost guaranteed inebriation," the green woman noted. The perpetual 'God help these idiots' look in her eyes strongly reminded Steve of Natasha.

"Damn," the raccoon crowed, "Terra is _awesome. _Probably shouldn't have judged the whole planet on the village idiot."

"Hey!"


	3. Chapter 3

As far as the world knew, Nicholas Fury was a dead man, one of the many casualties of the destructive events in D.C. His death was well publicized, if only a bit less than the death of the organization he ran.

Of course, neither Fury nor SHIELD was truly dead and buried. Only a few people on the planet were privy to that particular secret and, Phillip J. Coulson, reluctant Director of SHIELD, was one of them.

But for someone who was supposed to be covertly taking down HYDRA remnants in Europe, Fury was incredibly up-to-date with what was going on back in the States. In fact, it had been him who had called Coulson up at about two in the morning – ignoring time zone differences as easily as he had ignored the objections of U.N. councilmen – and broke the news that an alien spacecraft had landed on top of Avengers Tower.

"Your first alien invasion as Director and their first glimpse of humanity is Tony Stark," he had said, and Coulson could hear the pity in his voice. "God help you, Cheese."

He knew from the start that his main purpose in this scenario was damage control. The Avengers were heroes, there was no doubt, but they weren't – except perhaps Rogers – the kind of image of humanity that SHIELD wanted to convey to extraterrestrial life.

That was before Pepper had called him to tell him that no, the aliens were not hostile, yes, Tony had been the first to make contact, and yes, they had all gotten rip-roaring drunk. "Natasha has drank three aliens under the table so far, including the raccoon," she reported. "Steve just looks very disappointed and sober. Everyone else has problems getting up from the floor." A pause, and a loud zapping sound. "Also, the raccoon seems to be sobbing and destroying parts of Tony's lab."

"I can't believe I didn't see this coming," he said blankly.

"Yes, well, I think you should come by while they're still relatively coherent," she suggested. Coulson agreed, and the two exchanged goodbyes, but not before he heard - in the background - drunken cheering and the sound of a large amount of liquid hitting metal floor.

"Those _idiots_," said an unfamiliar, distant female voice in the background. The call cut off with a beep.

Phil Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose, saw the fifty pictures of the talking tree and raccoon duo that Clint had sent him over the period of two minutes, and re-evaluated his life decisions. Somewhere in the underworld of an obscure European country, Nick Fury was laughing his ass off.


End file.
